


Once Upon a December

by casthewise (quillquiver)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, Anastasia!AU, M/M, Some parts resemble the movie more closely than others, cross-over
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/casthewise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has no past, no future, and only one clue: 'Together in Paris'. Enter Dean. Handsome, clever, and altogether too charming, he's completely willing to help Cas on his journey as self-discovery... as long as he agrees to parade himself in front of the emperor first. After all, Cas does look an awful lot like fabled Castiel--Prince and highly rumoured to be still living. And if Cas can play the part, well... who is Dean to say no to the monetary reward?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A re-telling of Anastasia to celebrate my amazing followers on Tumblr <3

“Do you have to go?”

Big, brown eyes peer up from under long lashes, looking on in utter despair. Sam is the youngest in the orphanage, and though he still has icing smeared on his face from Cas’s makeshift cake, the young boy looks devastated.

Cas bites his lip. “Not forever.”

“But for a long time.”

Blue-eyed and pale with dark brown hair, Cas remains silent. Instead of replying, he pulls a small bracelet from his pillowcase. It’s fashioned from odds and ends of ripped fabric, braided into something crude-looking and ugly, but Sam’s dirty little face lights up at the sight of it. “But… it’s  _your_ birthday,” he murmurs, despite holding out a thin wrist.

And it is. The whole reason they’re in this mess is because Cas has turned eighteen, forcing him out of the orphanage and onto the street. He’s to leave in the morning, a pack on his back and a scarf around his neck, feet ensconced in thin boots and a hat on his head. It’s a new beginning; an adventure Cas isn’t sure he’s entirely ready for, but peeling potatoes every day is no way to live. Unconsciously, the young man’s hand moves to his thin shirt, palm resting over his sternum. There’s a gold necklace beneath the material; a thin pendant in the shape of a compass rose at the end. It says ‘ _Together in Paris_ ’, and though Cas has no idea what that means, he knows he has to go to France. He can’t remember the first eight years of his life, but he’s certain that his family is in the city of lights.

He just wishes Sam could come with him.

Sam was found when he was a baby, and though he has no last name, the pair have decided be their own version of family. With a small, sad smile, Cas slides the makeshift bracelet onto his friend’s hand. He closes his eyes tightly when Sam pulls him in for a hug. “Don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

~ * ~

Crowley has him out of bed before the sun rises, his body ripped from Sam’s as they slept on his makeshift cot. The younger boy is immediately crying and yelling for his brother-figure, Cas trying to look back between the pushing and pulling towards his packed bag. “Ten years, you’ve been a thorn in my side,” the old man growls, rolling his eyes as the other children cry or blow kisses or wave at Cas’s departure. “Walking around like you’re the King of England. I fed you, I washed you, I clothed you, I—”

“Kept a roof over my head,” Cas finishes, almost mocking as he opens the tap to wash his face.

Crowley pauses and glares, smacking the young man across the head. He sneers. “How is it you can’t remember a damn thing before you came here, but you can remember all that?”

Despite the silence, Cas’s hand still makes for his necklace.

Another hand makes it there before him. In no time, Crowley has the other pulled violently closer by the chain around his neck. He smirks. “Oh, that’s right… you want to go to Paris to find your family. They’re not there,  _my lord_ ,” he says mockingly. “In all likelihood they’ve been burned or buried with hundreds of others. No proper funeral. No privacy. The world is a hard place, brat, and it’s time to forget childish fantasies.”

Cas changes from his bedclothes quickly, slipping on his worn coat and boots with barely enough time to tie them closed when he’s grabbed by the ear again. “I got you a job at the fish mart,” the older man says. “When you get to the fork in the road, turn left—”

“Cas!”

Despite the incredible pain in his ear, Cas turns at Sam’s voice, smiling when the younger boy launches himself at his torso for a hug. Crowley lets go of his ex-charge in surprise. He glares as the younger boy holds his adoptive brother tightly, but gives them a good ten seconds before he’s prying them apart again, kicking and smacking at Sam in an effort to get him inside while simultaneously dragging Cas away. “I’ll come back for you!” the blue-eyed orphan yells before his younger counterpart can disappear.

“Don’t forget me!” Sam cries in reply.

“Never—Argh!” Cas glares as Crowley pushes him into the snow outside the gate, closing the thing behind him and locking it with a smirk.

“It’s time to take your place,  _my lord_ ,” he mocks again. “In life and in line.” 

He’s gone.


	2. Once Upon a December

When Castiel gets to the fork in the road, he can’t bring himself to move. He stands in the snow until little white flakes begin to gather at his ankles, chewing at his lip in the manner Crowley always hated. But this time, there’s no one to punish him for his disgusting behaviour. This time… he’s completely alone.

Cas knows what will happen if he goes left: he’ll switch one abuser for another. He’ll be stuck in the snow and the cold forever, and if he does by some miracle, find Sam again, he’ll have little and less money to support them.

“But if I go right…”

Going right is irrational. Childish. The young man immediately turns his back in the direction and stuffs his hands into his pockets, bare fingers digging into his gloved palms. Growling in frustration, Cas rips off his scarf and throws himself onto the ground, pulling out his necklace. “It’s a foolish idea. Reckless. It’s…” He trails off and pulls on his hair before looking up at the sky. “Give me a sign,” he pleads. “A hint… anything!”

A sign apparently comes in the form of floppy-eared dog.

It barks and obnoxiously nips at Cas’s scarf, pulling him to the right wild bounding and yapping like there’s nothing more exciting than walking himself off his feet in attempt to get to St. Petersburg. But looking at the scruffy thing, the orphan can’t help but think of an equally floppy-haired, brown-eyed boy. Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth once more, Cas gets to his feet.

“Alright, Sam,” he mumbles to himself, feeling silly. “I can take a hint.”

~ * ~

“Hello, I’m looking for a way to Paris?”

The clerk raises a bored-looking brow. He holds out a hand. “Exit visa.”

Cas frowns. “Exit visa? I was under the impression—”

 “No exit visa, no ticket!” The box office window slams shut.

The dark-haired man sighs dejectedly and wraps his arms around himself, looking around for any potential nooks in which to rest for the night. He’s just about to walk off when there’s a tug on his coat. From underneath a heavy cloak, an old woman smiles. “The old palace,” she says conspiratorially. “Ask for Dean. He’ll help.”

“Dean?” Cas whispers back.  
  
“Yes… but you didn’t hear it from me!” She’s disappeared into the crowd before Cas can thank her, but with a shrill whistle for Sam, the blue-eyed man disappears as well.

The old palace is filled with ghosts.

From the outside the building is more imposing than it is warm, drained of colour and boarded up. Cas wanders around with his hands buried deep within his pockets, talking to the dog he’s come to think of as his floppy-haired orphan boy. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” he sighs. “That something so beautiful has been forgotten. But perhaps this is beautiful its own tragic way.” Cas looks to Sam. “What do you think?”

In true form, the dog gives an affirmative, if humouring, bark before running off again.

“Sam!” the young man whisper-yells. “Sam!”

But it seems that dog-Sam is just as infuriatingly curious as his human counterpart. The little ball of fur slips underneath the loose board of a covered door. He barks happily as he scurries into the abandoned palace. “Sam!” Cas calls as loudly as he dares. “Sam, get back here!”

Blue eyes peer through the splintering, dusty boards, and the young man curls his fingertips around their edges. He pulls against them in frustration when his calls are met with silence, and yelps when a section falls back.

With barely a second thought, Cas enters.

The palace is cold and impersonal, spider webs draping every nook and cranny in a fuzzy, delicate white. The dust makes his nose itch and Cas holds his breath, blinking away cold winter light to adjust to the dimness of the space. Everything has been ransacked, and though the orphan steps in the direction of his four-legged companion, he can’t help but veer to the side, fingers brushing against dust-covered cutlery. Rubbing at the fork reveals tarnished silver, and for one insane moment, Cas is certain the blue eyes looking back at him are not his own. He banishes the thought, however, shaking his head and dropping the utensil in his pocket as something tickles at the back of his mind.

“Sam?”

This time, the orphan doesn’t call so much as whisper, getting to his feet. A bark sounds from deep within the palace and Cas follows. He lingers on the intact paintings that remain, touching ripped tapestries and dragging his finger across marble pillars. It should be eerie but Cas can only feel a familiar sort of awe. He has the strangest urge to remove his shoes.

Sam is in the ballroom.

The puppy barks and jumps obnoxiously when he sees his owner, bounding forth to drag Cas across the gorgeous floor by the end of his coat. The dark-haired man observes the hall with a sharp intake of breath. It’s gloomy now; the chandeliers gone and majesty dulled with filth, but Cas can imagine what it had been like before, warm and bright in all its glory. The paintings placed high upon the walls seem to come to life around him: glowing, beautiful people stepping out of their frames and floating gracefully to the ground before they begin to dance.

“This place…” Cas’s words are barely breathed, eyes following the spectres he knows do not exist but seem so real, moving flawlessly. At his side, Sam is completely still. “Can you imagine living here?” he asks quietly. “Dressed in finery, eating well… belonging?”

The young man takes a step forward, lifting his arms a stance he doesn’t remember as his eyes slip shut. He can picture himself in soft pants and a stiff jacket, blue ribbon draped across his torso as he spins a red-haired woman. She has long red hair and bright blue eyes not dissimilar to his own. She’s beautiful.

“HEY!”

The vision dissipates as quickly as it had arrived, Cas’s own eyes snapping wide open. His heart all but stops when he sees two men on the opposite side of the hall. Quickly, the orphan springs to his feet, one hand grabbing Sam while the other reaches into his pocket for the fork. He makes it up the carpeted steps and to the large portrait at the end of the hall before the younger of the two strangers catches up to him. “How— _woah_ there.”

Cas brandishes the utensil like a sword. “Don’t come any closer!” He tries to hold onto Sam as the puppy wriggles out of his arms and drops onto the floor, bounding towards the older stranger with a bark. “ _Sam_ ,” Cas hisses, eyes flicking away from the enemy but keeping his arm steady.

The stranger—the one closest to Cas, has green eyes that widen slightly at the mention of the dog. The man is attractive: with freckles that dust his skin and long, gorgeous eyelashes. His hair is sandy and short, his mouth perfect and pink. A white cotton shirt layered under a short-sleeved button-down gives the impression of at least some wealth, the stranger’s outfit completed with a brown vest and slacks. Curious, Cas lets himself look beyond Green Eyes and to his older counterpart who is dressed in much the same way. He currently seems to be humouring Sam with scratches behind his floppy ears.

“Take it easy,” Green Eyes says, drawing everyone’s attention. “No one has to get stabbed. I just need you to answer a couple questions. Like: how’d you get in… here...” He blinks rapidly, clearly looking to the portrait behind Cas before turning to his older friend. “Bobby,” Green Eyes hisses. “Bobby, you seein’ this?”

Cas is quite sure Bobby  _isn’t_ seeing, simply because Bobby has yet to look up from Sam. “Boy, ’the hell’re you goin’—oh.  _Oh_.”

Frowning in confusion, the orphan lowers his arm. They don’t  _seem_ dangerous. Maybe this is the man he’s supposed to be looking for? “Excuse me.” Cas clears his throat. “I’m looking for Dean.”

The younger’s brows almost shoot up to his hairline. “Why?”

“Are you him?”

“Depends on who’s askin’.”

Cas takes a deep breath and holds out his hand, squaring his shoulders. Dean raises a brow. Why? Well, Cas is, apparently, still holding tight to the fork. The orphan lets it drop to the floor. “My name is Cas,” he says. “I’m in need of travel papers.”

“Travel papers, huh?” The man who is clearly Dean begins to circle him, clearly sizing him up. Cas attempts to maintain a visual on him.

“Yes,” the orphan replies. “I need to go to Paris.”

“Great city,” Dean supplies. “So,  _Cas_ … that short for anything?”

Cas spins in an attempt to meet Dean’s eyes. “No,” he says suspiciously. “Just Cas.”

“No last name?”

Another frown. “Why are you circling me?” he demands, aggressive. “Are you attempting to size me up for dinner? Because I can assure you, I’m mostly bone.”

Dean steps back with his hands up, smiling in an altogether too charming manner. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. You just… look a lot like him.” He gestures to the large portrait at Cas’s back. “ _Castiel_.”

Cas turns to look, eyeing the dark hair and blue eyes of the painted little boy with careful interest. “I… suppose,” he replies. “I’m really just looking for a way to Paris.”

“Right. Yeah. ’Course,” Dean nods. “So, for travel papers: no last name? No family at all?”

Cas bites his lip and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I know it sounds far-fetched,” he says, embarrassed. “But I was found wandering around when I was eight years-old… I have no memories of my past.”

"…Huh." Dean eyes him for a moment before slinging an arm around Cas's shoulders, spinning him as they walk down the hall. "You ever think about the possibility?"

Cas plants himself firmly on the ground. His brows raise incredulously. "Of what, being royalty? Are you insane?"

"Why?" Dean asks. "You don't remember what happened to you."

"Nobody knows what happened to him," Bobby gruffly adds in.

"You're lookin' for family in Paris..."

"His only family's there," the older man finishes.

Dean nods. "Stranger things've happened."

Cas forces himself to smile, pushing out of the other man's arms as he steps away. "I... appreciate the compliment but I really just need—"

"I mean, you look just like him," Dean continues casually. "Michael's hair—"

"Hael's eyes," Bobby helpfully supplies.

Dean's fingers brush across Cas's stubbled jaw as he smiles in agreement. "Gabriel's chin."

Cas frowns and wrenches away. "Hey—!"

…But Dean only snags his hand. Bobby gives a nod of approval: "He's even got his mama's hands."

Pushing more forcefully away from the assault, Cas wishes he hadn't dropped fork. Instead, he wraps himself tightly in his coat, glaring at the two strangers. "Look," he says roughly, as if he commands it. "I'm not Castiel, alright? I just need a way to Paris."

Dean purses his lips and reaches back. Bobby hands him three pieces of paper. "Well, Cas, I got three tickets here," the green-eyed man says. "And the last one's for him."

"For Castiel?" Cas asks, as if he literally cannot believe the horsecrap he's hearing. "That's insane!  _You're_  insane."

"Hey, I'm just askin' you to keep an open mind." And like the instigator he clearly is, Dean waves the tickets right under Cas's nose. "We're goin' to Paris to reunite Castiel with his grandpapa, but if you know you're not him..."

“I’m not.”

“Your loss.”

It takes all but ten seconds after Dean has left for Cas to convince himself to run after him.

"Dean, wait!" He's panting as he catches up to them, Sam trotting behind him happily. "If I don't remember who I am," he rationalizes aloud. "Then who's to say I'm not a prince or a duke or a lord. The emperor will surely know whether or not I'm part of his family."

"Exactly," Dean agrees.

"And if I’m not, it's an honest mistake," Cas says reasonably. "Right?"

Bobby shrugs. "Logic's sound t’me."

"Good," the orphan nods, feeling a little breathless. He buries his hands in his pockets again. "Okay, I'll go with you."

Unbeknownst to Cas, at the exact same time of his agreement, a great evil stirs. Buried in the twists and turns of the abandoned palace, a gorgeous woman with blonde hair wakes from a decade-long slumber, stretching languidly on the bed in a secret room. Lilith's cloudy white eyes turn to the goblet on the bedside table. She smiles. 

"Hello, beautiful."


	3. I Hate Trains

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Cas raises a brow delicately, putting down his book with apparent consideration as he pats Sam’s furry little head, nodding. Not once does he let his eyes stray from Dean’s. “I agree.”

“Great.”

“And I appreciate your apology.”

“ _What_!?” Dean splutters as Cas goes back to reading, nonchalantly licking his thumb to turn a page. “Who said anything about an _apology_? I was just—”

“ _Please_ —”

“—Saying that we—”

“You know what,” Cas glares, slamming the novel down onto the seat. “Just stop. Whatever you’re going to say is bound to upset me.”

It takes visible effort, but Dean manages to reign himself in enough to give a jerky nod. Falling into the seat opposite, the green-eyed man crosses his arms over his chest and gives his most shit-eating grin. “I’ll be quiet if you’ll be quiet, _Princess_.”

“ _Duke_ ,” Cas hisses in reply. “And _fine_ , I’ll be quiet.”

Dean huffs. “Fine.”

“ _Great_.”

“ _Awesome_.”

Crossing his own arms, Cas turns on his side to look at the rapidly dissolving scenery. He pulls his paperboy cap until it’s almost covering his eyes and all but presses himself up against the metal wall of the cart, frowning when his exhale causes the window to fog. Brushing away the steam with his bare fingers, he holds his breath in order to simply _look_.

It’s beautiful.

Like a land from a fairytale, the world is covered in white. Shimmering flakes whirl around them as the train speeds by, and for the first time, Cas feels… something. Loss, maybe, and certainly regret for leaving Sam—the real Sam—behind. He would have loved this. “Will you miss it?” Cas asks quietly, pressing his hand to the glass.

“Miss what?” Dean demands. “The sound of your stupid gravelly voice? Seriously, dude, you know smoking ain’t healthy.”

Cas glares. “ _No_ ,” he says. “…Russia.”

Dean shrugs, and to make his utter indifference to the place completely clear, he settles himself back against his seat and closes his eyes with a little smile. “Nope.”

“But it was your home,” Cas frowns.

“It was a place I lived for a while.”

“But—”

“End of story.”

“Dean—”

“ _Cas_ —” Dean warns. “End. Of. Story.”

Cas bites his lip. “…Then you must plant on making Paris your true home.”

“ _Jesus fuck_ , what is it with you and homes?!”

Clenching his jaw, Cas grabs his book and jumps to his feet, unable to be around his infuriating travel companion any longer. He growls in frustration when Dean merely smirks at his outburst and puts his snowy boots onto the seat opposite, effectively blocking Cas’s way. The orphan pushes at his legs a couple of times before becoming too aggravated and crawling over them. “A home is…” he starts, landing on the floor. “It’s where you _come from_. It’s who you _are_ , it’s…”

“What?” Dean demands, jumping to his feet as well. He takes a step forward. “It’s what?”

But Cas doesn’t know what to say. Truth be told, he doesn’t know what having a home is like because he’s never truly had one. He’s been traded from orphanage to orphanage ever since he can remember, but none of those places ever felt like _home_. Home is… family. It’s important. How does Dean not see that? “Nothing,” Cas finally mutters. “It’s nothing.”

Bobby chooses that moment to enter their compartment, eyes widening when he sees the way both men are standing off against each other. “Where’s the party?” he asks gruffly, easily bending down to pick up Sam as the mutt runs and jumps at his leg. “You ladies enjoying yourselves?”

“Just please remove him from my sight,” Cas spits, looking away.

Dean scoffs and in response, Bobby raises a brow. “What’d you do now, boy?”

“ _Me_?” Dean shrieks. “It’s him!”

With yet another glare, Cas turns on his heel and storms out the sliding door, almost running headfirst into a gorgeous blonde woman. “Sorry, excuse me,” he mumbles, brushing past her.

She stares after him. From one blink to the next, her eyes turn milky white.

 

~ * ~ 

“ _Cas_! _Hey, Cas_!”

Cas’s first response to anything jostling him is to punch it in the face. It’s a method he’s developed over time, especially at the odd jobs Crowley would ship him off to where the employer would either get too handsy or harsh. Of course, this usually meant punishment in the long run, but self-preservation is instinct.

Just as it’s instinct when Dean shakes him awake.

“ _SHIT_!”

“Sorry, I’m so—Oh. It’s you.”

“Who the hell else would it be?” Dean moans, holding his face. “I think you broke my nose!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Cas mutters. “What’s going on?”

“We gotta go,” Dean says, voice muffled by his hand. He grabs hold of as many suitcases he can carry. “ _Now_.”

The trio sneak towards the front of the train quickly and quietly, Cas pushed up to lead the way as he’s practically herded down hallway after hallway. Finally, Dean slips forward and opens a large metal door. “Your majesty…” He motions to the baggage car with a flourish of his arm, pasting on a smile as Bobby shuffles in behind them, Sam in tow. With a raised brow, Cas eyes their new accommodations critically, pursing his lips in sarcastically. “Mr. Winchester, I’m not to assume there are problems with our travel papers, am I?”

Dean’s smile is equally as sarcastic. “’Course not, your Grace.” he says, gallant. “It just came to my attention that you need your own space, is all.”

Looking around the cart, Cas makes as if he’s inspecting it and nods. “Oh yes, this is _very_ nice.”

As if to punctuate his sentence, something explodes on the other side of the door, blowing the thing off its hinges and throwing all three men to the floor. Cas and Dean get thrown on top of one other, buried in luggage as they struggle to the surface, pushing at the bags and each other in an attempt to get free.

“Get off—”

“I’m _trying_!”

“Fuckin’—Ow!”

With a glare and push from Cas, Dean stumbles free, hopping on one leg while rubbing the other. Bobby, meanwhile, is cursing under his breath, holding tight to Sam and rummaging in his suitcase. For what, Cas has no idea, but he’s too preoccupied with trying to get himself untangled to see. “Dean!” he hears the older man bark.

“What?!”

“We lost the rest of the train behind us and it looks like someone decided to set up a campfire up front!”

“ _What_?!”

With a jerk of the train, Cas is free. He throws himself towards Dean and Bobby, baby blues widening when he sees the engine blowing harsh black smoke and fire. “Something’s wrong,” the former mutters, pulling the door open with a grunt. He shields himself from flying sparks with the back of his hand. “Stay here, I’m gonna check it out.”

Cas bites his lip. “I’ll come with you—”

“Stay. Here.”

The orphan wrings his hands as he watches Dean jump towards the ladder that will lead him to the engine, and instant away from following when Bobby grabs his forearm. With a grunt, he hands over a revolver. “You know how to use this?”

“I—”

“It ain’t a hard question, son.” Checking to make sure all the chambers are full, the older man shuts the thing closed with a ‘click’, nodding to the weapon. “Cock it by pulling back this piece here,” he explains. “Then shoot. Real simple.”

“Cock the gun. Point and shoot,” Cas repeats nervously. “Right.” Reaching around, he stuffs the gun in the waistband of his pants just as Dean jumps down from the engine car, covered in soot and smoke clinging to his clothes and skin.

“Nobody’s driving this train,” he informs them, sprinting to the service door of the cart. “We’re gonna have to jump.” Heaving it open, all three men look over at the snowy chasm beneath them. Cas shakes his head minutely. “After you!” he yells over the now amplified noise.

Dean glares at his tone of voice and pushes back towards safety. “Bobby! We gotta uncouple the car!”

The older man immediately begins searching for something to help with that, Cas joining in when Dean yells that the two cars are welded together. The orphan growls at Sam to be quiet as he rifles through a particularly heavy suitcase, Bobby looking through the toolkit that’s spilled all over the floor.

Sam bites on the edge of Cas’s jacket and _pulls_.

“Genius dog,” the orphan compliments as he pries the crate of explosives open, fumbling in his pocket for the matchbox in there. He quickly lights the red stick before handing it over to Dean, watching the other man regard it wide eyed before wedging it between the two cars. The three of them scramble to take cover. “What the hell do they teach you in those orphanages?”

They’re free with a ‘ _BOOM_ ’.

The entire front of the car has been blown off, and Bobby immediately goes to the manual brake. “Damn brakes are out!”

“Turn harder!”

“Boy, don’t tell me— _shit_.” The wheel that causes the brakes to function comes off in Bobby’s hands. Dean takes a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” he says calmly. “We got plenty of track. We’ll just coast to a stop.”

Except of course they won’t, because the bridge ahead, the one that will allow them safe passage from one side of the gorge to the other, explodes as well. The trio stares, dumbstruck. “…You were saying?” Cas murmurs moments later, still unable to look away from their certain doom. The baggage car begins to pick up speed as it heads downhill.

“Bobby, gimme a hand!”

But with the aftershocks of the explosion, Bobby has fallen into a crate. It’s Cas who follows Dean to the back of the car, handing him the metal chain with the large hook on it when he asks.

“Not you!” Dean protests when he sees Cas’s face.

The orphan rolls his eyes. “Bobby is otherwise occupied.”

Huffing—because Dean Winchester is obviously nothing if not mature—the green-eyed man climbs down to attach the chain to the underside of the car, yelling to be pulled up. He takes Cas’s offered hand immediately, not expecting the strength of the other’s arm as he pulls him up and close, faces inches apart. It’s insane, being this close. Cas can count every freckle on his skin. They’re both panting, whether from adrenaline or something else Cas doesn’t know, but Dean is… beautiful. He smells like smoke and fire, but under that there’s musk and leather and spice. It feels only natural to fall forward ever so slightly, if only to better discern the flecks of gold and dark green in his eyes. What Cas doesn’t expect is the dropping feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach, the one that is so intense his eyes begin to slip shut in time with the other man’s, their foreheads almost touching—

But then the shrapnel that would have ended Dean’s life hits a nearby tree, spraying bark onto the snow.

Spell thoroughly broken, Cas lets go of Dean’s hand perhaps a little more harshly than necessary. “And to think that could’ve been you,” he sighs.

Dean brushes himself off, clearly ticked. “If we live through this.” He grits his teeth. “Remind me to thank you.”

Together, Dean and Cas push the heavy chain off the back of the baggage car, bracing themselves when the hook get stuck and forces the car to slide off the tracks, ripping them up as they go along. With a yelp, Cas feels the car get turned on his side and throws himself toward their own luggage, carrying as much as he can before stumbling towards the door. “Well,” Dean says as they stand there, looking at the snow hesitantly. “This is our stop!”

They jump. 

Cas only just manages to poke his head out of a snow bank in time to see the engine and baggage car fall into the gorge and explode.


End file.
